


Vatt'ghern Sidh

by Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Elf Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Elf Jaskier | Dandelion, Fluff, Fluffy Ending, M/M, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-31
Updated: 2020-05-31
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:01:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24472468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness/pseuds/Cap_Sweet_And_Salty_Sadness
Summary: Geralt learnt from a young age than Witchers couldn't become knights, and elves even less so. There was nothing chivalrous about killing monsters and remaining in the shadows of humanity, nothing courageous about following the role set upon himself.He didn't understand why Jaskier wanted to follow him. The baby fat had yet to melt from his face but still he already sought adventure and stories to tell to a crowd despising their kind. That was why he kept pushing him away, despite the odd fluttering in his chest whenever the bard did something idiotic, which was fairly often.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 146





	Vatt'ghern Sidh

**Author's Note:**

> Today is my birthday and this is my gift back to you. I was doing the art and decided I really wanted to write something to go along with it - three days ago. This is what I came with, and I might extend it? Let me know what you think. <3  
> You can better see the art [here](https://capdraws.tumblr.com/post/619640108729204736/vattghern-sidh-aka-its-my-bd-and-wanted-to-give).  
> The title simply means "Elf Witcher" in Elder Speech, and the few lines of a song Jaskier sings are from an Irish poem, _Is acher in gaíth in-nocht_.

Geralt learnt from a young age than Witchers couldn't become knights, and elves even less so. There was nothing chivalrous about killing monsters and remaining in the shadows of humanity, nothing courageous about following the role set upon himself. He would walk the Path until he couldn't, be the one standing between humans and non-humans while ostracised from both.

Over the years he grew accustomed to the Witchers' reputation. He stopped trying to correct the rumours and defend himself when someone shouted at him or used physical violence. No good came from it, so he ignored it, and when he couldn’t, he left. He preferred the blessed quietness of the forest rather than the hateful stares of ignorant peasants. 

He didn't understand why Jaskier wanted to follow him. The heroism and romance he proclaimed in his songs were elaborated fantasies. His work was harsh and brutal and a constant reminder of how gruesome and merciless the world could be. Geralt didn't want that for the boy. The baby fat had yet to melt from his face but still he already sought adventure and stories to tell to a crowd despising their kind. That was why he kept pushing him away, despite the odd fluttering in his chest whenever the bard did something idiotic, which was fairly often.

It came as a surprise to meet another elf living through humans like he belonged there, blinding bright colours screaming at anyone who dared say anything. It came to no surprise that he started fighting whoever dared to spew insults about Witchers in his presence, despite Geralt’s numerous attempts at letting it go. 

Geralt should’ve have known someone persistent like he was would succeed in getting under his skin, sooner or later. Years went by with him at his side, his everpresent humming softening his edges until he found a way to his heart.

“ _Bitter is the wind tonight, it tosses the ocean’s white hair_ .” The bard was strumming his lute by the fire. “ _I long for the_ … eh, that’s no good.” He scratched the line in his notebook, his fingers stained with spilled ink. “Geralt, what does hair rhyme with?”

“ _Air_ ,” came Geralt’s gruff reply as he continued cleaning his sword from crusted blood. The silver blade gleamed in the moonlight. 

“Really? Could you try any less to be helpful?”

“Your quest for rhymes doesn’t seem to ever end. I’m not a literate like you are, so I can also offer _care_. Not that I do.”

Jaskier sputtered, mouth opened, but had nothing to say. Instead he pouted and put down his lute in its case. “Keep telling yourself that if it reassures you in your strong Witcher impersonation, darling,” he mumbled to himself, not caring Geralt could still hear him. 

He hid his small smile by discarding his sword to instead grab some oil he used on his scars when they pulled and were irritated. 

“Solitaire,” he piped in as he pulled his sleeve up to expose his forearm. He recently had used it to block and it had awakened old injuries. “Despair.”

“Are you going to throw every rhyme at me?”

“Share.”

Jaskier snorted and came closer to take the vial from him, sitting between his spread legs like he belonged there. Geralt’s heart sputtered, heat spreading under his breastbone. Jaskier accessed the scar and the dry skin around it, dragged a gentle hand on it. Geralt held his breath, his other hand clasping his knee not to _touch._

“Stare,” he whispered. Jaskier looked up, his blue eyes obscured. 

“Go on, proclaimed illiterate,” he said, his voice lower than usual; intimate. He put a few drops of oil on his fingers to warm it up before spreading it on Geralt’s forearm, starting to massage it in.

“Unfair.”

“Unaware.” 

“Jaskier, I…” He followed the urge to press his hand on Jaskier’s shoulder, his thumb brushing against the hollow of his throat where a nest of chest hair peeked from his chemise. “I do care.”

Jaskier smiled and dropped a kiss on the scar. “I know.”

It was the natural course of things to pull the bard to him and kiss him until they’re both panting, clutching to each other. Geralt smiles and nuzzles his cheek. He basks in the feeling of his warm body pressed against his, his arms curled around his waist. He smells of the sun. 

Jaskier splayed his hands up his back, hummed. “I don’t think I want it to rhyme. Rhymes can be boring.”

Geralt laughed and kissed him again, relishing the taste of his mouth and his sweet quiet moans. The bard pulled away and he chased him with a groan, wanting more, but he gently pushed him back with a hand on his chest.

“Geralt, does your oil have magical healing properties?”

He looked down at his arm. The pain was gone, because there was no more scar. He touched it, to make sure it wasn’t an illusion. “It doesn’t. I’ve had that scar since before I met you, I don’t… What have you done?”

“Me? I rubbed your skin with the oil and that was it. I did hear from a few people I have magical fingers, but I doubt that’s what they meant.”

Geralt grabbed and pushed the vial in his hands. “Do it again. Here.” He pushed the collar of his black shirt aside to expose a thick, hypertrophic scar. Jaskier sighed but repeated the same gestures. After a few minutes of staring at it, nothing happened. 

“I don’t understand. Perhaps it was another potion, or a mix of two?” Jaskier started supplying, when Geralt grabbed his arm.

_Oh._

“You kissed it,” Geralt realised with a pang. He’d heard of this, a long time ago, a silly tale of soulmates soothing each other’s pain with their love, but thought it was just another fairytale meant to the romantics of this world. Not for witchers, never for them.

Jaskier was older than he was, had been a bard for most of his life, and with the way he’d grown still, such tales were shared among the poets’ social circle.

He bent and kissed the scar, his lips hot on his skin, and Geralt had to refrain a shudder. If this was real, it meant Jaskier was… He couldn’t fathom the thought, but this could explain how he couldn’t deny him anything.

Jaskier softly gasped. “It’s disappearing,” he exclaimed. “It’s completely gone, Geralt.” He hugged him, leaning heavily into him. Geralt returned the embrace and they stayed like that for a long moment, the realisation sinking in.

“I need to kiss you as well,” Geralt finally said. “I believe you have a scar on your hip?”

“Mm, I do. Oh.” Geralt fell to his knees before him and stared up at him through his lashes. His hair trailed on the ground but he hardly cared about it at the moment.

“May I?” He asked, pressing his nose into his stomach to smell him. 

“Of course.” Jaskier stroked his long white hair and teased his long ears, flicking the ends in a way that managed to be tender.

Geralt lifted his shirt, his fingers seeking the knitted skin. He could still remember how Jaskier got it, a contract that had turned to be much more dangerous and resulted in Jaskier distracting an enraged spectre. The injury was serious but elves were tenacious and resilient, as history proved it. Now nothing remained but a silver line running down his flank to his hipbone. He pressed delicate kisses along it, encouraged by Jaskier’s reaction. The bard’s heart was thundering loudly. He trailed towards his belly button, loving the feel of the soft hair there. 

“So?” Jaskier gulped. “Is it gone?”

“Mm? Oh yes.” He slid his hands up his chest to his pectorals to thumb his nipples, the waft of Jaskier’s arousal filling his nostrils. “Completely gone.”

“That’s good. I suppose I have a lot of work ahead of me then. I’ll have to kiss almost every inch of you. A real hardship that will be.”

Geralt unlaced his trousers. “I’ll be all yours once I’m done with you, love.”

**Author's Note:**

> The soulmate idea came from a prompt on Tumblr: **The only way for your scars to disappear is when your soulmate kisses them goodbye.**  
>  Follow me on [Tumblr](http://cap-sweet-and-salty-sadness.tumblr.com/) and [Twitter](https://twitter.com/CaptainMarianna). I currently take commissions, you can find the infos on my Tumblr.


End file.
